Duty
by Llama Lady Lily
Summary: When Tortall characters realise their true duty. All stand alones
1. Roald

"King Roald! King Roald!" a messenger shouted. "Urgent message from the North!"

"Enter!" Roald commanded from his dais where he was praying. A young man, no older than 15 or so, entered the room at a run, a piece of parchment with the Queenscove seal adorning it.

_Neal_ Roald thought.

The man – or rather boy – knelt at the King's feet and began to say the appropriate things, do the appropriate bows that were required of a commoner that addressed a member of royalty.

"Not now, boy. What have you?" Roald scorned.

"I apologise, sir!" the boy groveled, passing the note to his King.

"Good day, lad," Roald said, flipping a coin to the boy. He knew a dismissal.

"Thank you, sire! Thank you!" he said extravagantly, and ran from the room. Roald hastened to see what Neal had to report. After retiring from Training Master, Neal had taken up George on his offer to take over Spymaster duty. Tidings under the Queenscove seal rarely meant pleasant news.

_Roald,_

_Fort Catarid was taken under siege, and retaken an hour or so later._

_Kel is dead. She was killed by three mages when she tried to save two small children. _

_Faleron and Seconds are accompanying myself and Kel's body home. The message was sent via birds._

_NQ_

Short, crisp sentences. That was Roald's way, not Neal's. Neal was elaborate and concise.

Except at the loss of a friend.

Roald remembered a similar message in Neal's handwriting about Cleon's death. It, too, conveyed each message in as few words as possible.

That was Neal. When things get emotional, say nothing.

Neal, Faleron and his Second company of the King's Own arrived only a day later. Dom had risen to second in command of third company, and, naturally, he also attended, as her husband. Owen just an hour after, his Caval bride in tow. Wyldon himself attended, more somber than any of them had seen these long forty years they had known him.

Faleron didn't say a word. He nodded to his King, and showed up where it was proper, but didn't say a word.

Neal, too, was largely silent. If he said anything at all, it was only to Yuki, Roald or Dom, who knew her, and him, best.

Owen jabbered on incessantly about the many times Kel had saved his skin, and his many memories of her.

Neal, Dom, Faleron and Owen took to wandering the castle and Corus. Often they heard snippets of conversations of Kel's passing as they walked by. Once or twice they spoke ill of the Lady Knight. Their mistake was quickly amended, with the promise of more trouble if it was repeated.

Neal's punches left the biggest bruises, though.

"You'll speak?" Dom croaked to King Roald.

"I- I beg your pardon?" Roald stuttered.

"Neal or I cannot, Faleron and Lalasa will not, and I refuse to have Owen or Wyldon speak at my wife's funeral."

"Of course Roald will speak," Jonathan announced his presence in a wheeze.

"Thank you," Dom nodded and left the room.

"Father, what are you thinking?" Roald scolded once Dom had closed the large doors behind him. "I cannot speak at her funeral!"

"You must, Roald. It is your Duty," Jon ordered.

"It is my Duty to give prayers to the Gods for a fallen friend? A friend who's advice I've trusted beyond all others bar my Prime Minister and Spymaster? A friend who helped me through my page years, helped me understand my wife and helped me be the man I am today? How can I, father?"

"It is your Duty, Roald. You have no choice. In this instance, you must put away your fear and regret, and keep your feelings at the top of your mind. You must be The King of Tortall for majority of this time, and be Sir Keladry of Mindelan and Masbolle's friend at others. I cannot instruct you on the correct process, for it is your friend."

"Father," Roald protested.

"Hush, my son, for I fear that I will not be in the land of the living for very much longer. I can instruct you on little from here. You are not to be my son, you are to be King Roald, leader of Tortall. You re not to make the same mistakes I have done, and trust the advice of others over what is best for my country. You are not to do things as you believe I would, but as you believe you should. The time has come, Roald, for you to step up. You have been King for ten years, and still you have not taken the correct responsibility. You, Roald, have a Duty. Duty to your people that you know in times of hardship, and Duty to those you do not know in the same times. The Realm has lost a great, great Knight. A loss that shall be felt across the lands. You must lead them through this, and give them a reason to follow you. You must show strength when you are weak, show compassion when you are troubled. You must be their leader, Roald. You are their King, and this is your Duty."


	2. Neal

"Please," the newest entry begged, shouting through the chaos. "Please, don't let me die!"

"You're not going to die, sweetheart, you're going to be just fine," one of the nurses cooed. "Healer! Quick! I've got a critical! This kid's coughing up blood!"

Neal rushed forward, leaving one of the apprentices to keep a pressure bandage on his current patient's bleeding neck.

"Okay, stats?" he asked the nurse. She looked like he felt – absolutely exhausted.

"Coughing up blood – punctured lung, I'd say, two broken ribs and an arrow's broken the skin on his thigh," she said, swiping her hair out of her eyes again while holding a bucket to his mouth, covering his face.

"Bandage the leg as best you can," he ordered, taking the bucket and finally looking at his patient.

This one had a face.

"Keirran?" Neal asked.

"Queenscove!" the older man said. "Oh, my, thank the Gods!"

Keirran ha Minch had seen better days. Vida was a good nurse – she had taken in all of his injuries – those that required immediate attention – the two ribs, the apparent lung problems and his rather nasty arrow wound. He had blood on his face, mainly dripping from his mouth, and the odd droplet from his nose, and he was dirty, smelly and as disheveled as the nurses and healers that had been working virtually solid for thirty seven hours.

Neal checked Keirran's lungs. Thank the Gods, they were still intact. Punctured lungs were a healer's worst nightmare, especially when the healer was tapped. He'd been coughing so much, he'd probably just run his throat raw. It would heal.

"How-" Neal began before another patient was dragged in on a stretcher.

"Not breathing!" the stretcher bearer cried.

"Take the bucket, Vida!" Neal shouted at Keirran's nurse, already running towards the stretcher.

"Drop him!" Neal ordered at three steps away, and skidded down immediately to perform CPR. It was then that he realized he knew this face, too. This face he had been wrong about – a female, not a male face

"Oh, Uline," he cried, then began to breathe into the married woman's mouth, attempting to make his friend breathe once more.

"Compressions?" one of the stretcher bearers asked.

"Her heart's pumping, she's just not breathing," Neal said. "Besides, _she does _have a punctured lung. Leave her to me. Go get more patients, you slackers!"

Neal was almost drained – of his Gift, that was. If he could just get a couple of hours sleep, he'd have some more. If he could just rest a moment… that's why, even if it was his friend he was trying to revive, it was a relief not to have to use magic.

"Uline?" a voice called. "Nealan, tell me that isn't my wife you're kissing!"

Neal refused to answer, and continued to push air into Uline's lungs as best he could. He put his hands on her chest, trying to coax more Gift to his fingers from his tapped supplies. She might never breathe of her own accord if that puncture didn't fix, and the puncture couldn't fix if there was a rib in it…

"No, damnit," he cursed. "Breathe, come on!" he ordered, shaking out his hands to try and force some magic. "Okay, if you refuse to breathe, we'll have to go medieval on you! Drusilla! Deila!"

Drusilla Pennilworth was a local midwife, and was not suited for anything in combat warfare healing, but Neal could sure use her now. Deila followed orders easily.

The old woman and her daughter marched over as fast as they could. "Yes?"

"Hold this woman's chest right there," he ordered. "I have to shift a rib. Deila, do the breathing motion, please."

"Yes, Healer," Dru said, moving Neal's bloody hands to place her own in their red-stained stead.

"This is going to feel a little awkward," Neal warned her, then moved his newly freed hands in a swift motion, emitting a crack.

"Just move your hands up one inch," he said tiredly, and repeated the motion once she was ready.

"I need you to bandage this as well as you can, then keep doing CPR. I'll get Keirran over here, and pray he has some Gift left for her. Don't stop breathing, or she might have near permanent brain damage." Neal sighed and squared his weary shoulders to face his friend.

"ha Minch, I'm afraid I need some Gift," Neal said resignedly once he reached Keirran.

"No," Keirran said carefully. "No you don't. No Neal. Please. Please tell me that wasn't… Please."

"I'm afraid that one of your wife's ribs has punctured her lung. I've seen dozens of these – why, I've dealt with two in the past hour – but I'm afraid I'm out of magic. I can fix it… I just need you to concentrate on healing…"

"Oh Uline," Keirran cried. "Uline…"

"It's going to be okay," Neal coaxed. "It'll be fine. I can fix it. I just need a little help."

"Queenscove," Keirran whispered, grabbing Neal's tunic. "She's pregnant."

Neal's eyes widened.

"That's okay. That's okay, we'll take her to the infirmary. You see that woman with her? Drusilla? She's a midwife. She's going to take care of Uline, I swear. But that baby needs it's mama to breathe, so Keirran, I need some Gift."

"I'm almost out," he whispered. "I don't know if it will be enough. You can have it all. I never need it ever again, if you save my wife. Please, please save her."

"I swear it," Neal said, taking Keirran's gaze steadily. "Just take my hands."

"On the heads of your children?" Keirran asked.

"I don't have any, ha Minch, you know that. But on the graves of my brothers, I swear. On the head of my wife, and on the sword of my knighthood, I will do everything in my power, and yours if you entrust it to me, to save your wife."

Keirran took his hands and began to shed his Gift. "Save her," he whispered, before passing the last of his bright orange Gift from his hands to Neal's.

"I will," Neal said to his now unconscious friend. Neal stood and wiped his bloody face with a grimace. "It's my Duty."


	3. Neal and Baird

**Ash's back story – **

**When Baird was younger, he was sent to Galla for four years on an internship. He is fluent in the language, and still speaks with a trace of the accent, which is similar to Austrian or German.**

**Baird and his wife had three daughters and four sons. Neal was always the youngest son, but he had two younger sisters. One of his sisters also had the Gift, but apart from her and Neal, the rest of the Queenscoves had only a small amount of magic. Neal's brothers all chose the Knighthood, and have all been slain. Baird is recovering from his last Knight son's death when Neal announces that he will try for a Knighthood.**

"The Gods did _not_ put us on this Earth to bury our sons, Nealan!" Baird hissed. "We were put here to have many sons, and when we are old, our sons will be strong young men, and they will carry our coffins! That is _not_ the job of a father!"

Neal stood dutifully at the military at ease, his head bowed.

"I have buried sons," Baird said, softer now. "I have prayed to the Gods for my own boys. My daughters have been taken from me, and I fought with every morsel of strength I possessed many years past to keep your mother from bandits when you were soon to be born. I _cannot_ protect you when you are there."

Still Neal kept his silence.

"You have the Gift, Neal! So strong for one so young! You have such potential! You want to be a knight so badly you will risk this?"

"A Queenscove Knight has always served the Crown-"

"_I_ am a Knight of Realm! Do not forget just because I am buried in babies and paperwork that I have a shield. Do not forget that I have seen the Kraken. Do not forget that I know what it is you are putting your hand up for. And don't you dare forget that it is not my job to bury you."

"I will serve the Realm," Neal said, his deep green eyes boring into his father's.

"You can serve the Realm _here_! At the university! As a healer!"

"I will serve the House of Queenscove."

"I represent the House!"

"It is my job to bury you, father," Neal said, adopting a tinge of his father's accent. "Who will serve the Realm and the Queenscove name when you are gone?"

"This is not your duty, Nealan. This is mine. I am your father."

"You did not protest when my brothers attempted to relieve you."

"Because I always had you!" Baird shouted. "I always had a son to bury me!"

"Jessamine can carry your coffin should the worst happen," Neal said. "The convent and the nunnery do not hold the same risks as being a Knight of the Realm."

"Nealan, I must protest. You are all I have left. Please. Stay at the university."

Neal took his father's gaze again. "You do not have to protect me, father. This is my burden now."

Baird held his eye line. "Promise me an heir. Promise me sons and daughters. At your earliest convenience."

"I will name my first born son 'Baird' if you please," Neal said.

"I will not put my name on a form allowing this. You will have to ask your mother."

Neal had not faltered in his staring contest with his father. One side of his mouth turned up.

"Thank you, father," Neal said with his sad smile in tact. He bowed, as was appropriate, and left his father to ponder.

Perhaps it was time for the younger men to take on the duties now.


End file.
